


Suns and stars

by iheartloofas, juvenna_reverie



Series: Week Two of Quarantine [7]
Category: Norse Religion & Lore, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: We hated each other as children, and you inspire me, but it was essentially pulling pigtails, falling out og love with being evile
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:40:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25177804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iheartloofas/pseuds/iheartloofas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/juvenna_reverie/pseuds/juvenna_reverie
Relationships: Loki (Norse Religion & Lore)/Han Solo
Series: Week Two of Quarantine [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1788163





	Suns and stars

Loki’s pretty bored, honestly. Since he’s managed to break the ropes that his idiot ‘father’ put on him, nothing’s really felt… right. Sure, he’d enjoyed strangling the serpent that had dripped all that acid on him for eons, and he’d liked the pegging his pretty Sigyn had given him to celebrate, right there on that rock he’d lain on for so long with the entrails of a few of his sons, but. Everything’s too quiet. No sign of Ragnarok, or any other kind of fun.

It feels, sometimes, as if he’s done everything. Every prank, every joke, every so-called misdeed, every person and position under Sunna’s radiant face. He’d fucked that horse Svaðilfari, and now Daddy Odin has little Sleipnir (though he’d never said thank you for those nine hours of labor, that asshole). He’d made the snake Jormungandr, the wolf Fenrir, and Hel herself, and if anyone had a problem with how he’d made them they could take it up with Angrboða and her biceps. He’d finally gotten one over on Baldr, too, but then everyone pissed their pants about it and he’d ended up on the stupid rock. 

He's traipsed all over the damn World Tree. Jotunheim and Asgard and Nilfgard (more like Milfgard lol) and wherever the fuck else looking for something or someone to do. He's in the middle of trying to light a firework (brilliant invention, that. He'd only had a little bit to do with it) up a frost giant's ass when it finally occurs to him to take a stroll over to Midgard and see what's up with the mortals.

Loki wasn't expecting to see a scattering of loose gravel where Earth once was. He knew it had been a while, poor Heimdall had said as much when Loki had very politely run him through with his spear to get him to lower the rainbow bridge.

"Fuck you, horsewhore," said Heimdall. How rude.

"See you at Ragnarok," said Loki, genteel as always. "Looking forward to ripping out your throat with my teeth for all eternity!" Heimdall eventually did lower the bridge, once Loki had promised him a fuck sometime in the next hundred years or so, and Loki had crossed it, visions of kinslayings and licorice dancing in his head. 

But now he’s here, floating in this barrenness. This collection of pebbles. He forgets how fond he is of Midgard sometimes, how he loves the open fields, the lazy rivers, the inherent mischief in men’s souls. He’s about to holler for Heimdall and promise him yet another IOU when he catches something in the corner of his old eyes. A gigantic metal vessel, shaped like one of Freya’s plates.  
He remembers suddenly that he can shapeshift, so he turns into a sparrow and somehow manages to catch hold of the huge thing. He finds a vent in the vast metal landscape of it and worms his way inside, just as he’d done it for all these long years split between Asgard and Jotunheim. He finds himself in a filthy room, covered in all manner of screws and parts, some kind of holographic board game in the background. It reminded Loki of Baldr’s workshop, and he felt something turn over in his ribcage. Probably nothing. 

“Chewie!” yells someone, and Loki jolts, cause it’s a mortal voice. It’s been a while. He decides he doesn’t particularly love the idea of being squashed underfoot into a feathery pancake (though Angrboda had said something along those lines once that had sent a shiver down his spine), so he pulls his bones and stretches his muscles till he looks… normal. He’s sure that he can pass for mortal, even after all this time. 

“What the fuck,” says Han. There’s a man on the Falcon. Worse, he doesn’t look like any human he’s ever seen; there’s something just slightly off about him. His eyes just a bit too blue, his hair too perfect, his smile too wide. 

“Hann tók norðan úr Jötunheim fjögur uxa, sem voru jarðvegur ákveðins risa og hún sjálf, og setti þau fyrir plóginn,” says the man. He blinks. “Drógu landið út í sjóinn og vestur á bóginn og stoppuðu í vissu hljóði?” 

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck,” says Han. The man blinks again. 

“Oh, are we still speaking this, then? Huh. Hasn’t been that long, I guess. Those damned Celts must have finally taken Sweden.” Han finally breaks.

“How did you get on the ship? We’re in the middle of a goddamn asteroid field!”

“Oh, you know,” says the man. He squints his eyes and seems to let go of something. “I’m Loki.” 

Han pauses. Whatever. Honestly, whatever. As if he hasn’t dealt with hitchhikers before. Whatever. It doesn’t hurt that he might be just a little hot, all quizzical eyes and twisty mouth and strong, wiry body. He looks like something out of those pastoral picture books his mama used to read him. He looks like whatever a “woodsman” is supposed to be. 

“Chewie! Keep going, it’s just a hitchhiker. We have to keep onward. We still gotta meet that dumbass on Tatooine and scam him out of his money, plus that bounty on the clone king still’s out, plus we still gotta beat that parsec record before Greedo gets it in his rat brain to do it.” With a flip of his artfully tousled hair, he turns to leave. He pauses, and then looks at those eyes. Something inside him whispers that he doesn’t know what he’s dealing with. Another something tells him that whoever or whatever ‘Loki’ is, he’s pretty cute. He elbows the something away and says, “Just.. . stay here and don’t make trouble.”

It’s been a while since Loki’s seen someone in the vein of him. A schemer, someone who made his buck through the gullibility of others. Some things don’t change. And, well, if he sneaks a peek at his curious shirt, with its open collar framing a tanned chest lined with hair, then, well. It’s his nature as a god, that’s all. 

This strange mortal, in this strange vessel, in the wreckage of the Midgard he knew, was something new. Something fresh. A place to start. “You know,” says Loki. “It’s been a while since I’ve known someone in the trades. I used to do that kind of stuff, long ago.”

“You inspire me,” says Loki, and for once he means it. 

“Whatever,” says Han. If he turns a little red, that’s alright.


End file.
